By Tardsie

The Gunslinger Sleeps With One Eye Open, Forever Waiting For The Younger Man With A Faster Gun He Knows Must Someday Come For Him.

I drank a lot when I was younger. Too much, I guess. I enjoyed the consciousness-altering aspect of booze, and for a while, there was a novelty to getting fucked-up. When, as is the nature of novelty, it wore off, I found I didn’t drink so much anymore.

Some years later, it turned out that a co-worker of mine, John, was acquainted with some of my old college friends. My college friends regaled John with only the most debauched and asinine of my collegiate exploits. It was a somewhat incomplete picture of the person I had been as a youngster, and about a million miles from the reality of my life at that moment. Based largely on this erroneous image, John challenged me to a drinking contest at an upcoming office party.

A drinking contest? The idea was a loser from the get-go. I had largely put my boozing behind me, but John had kept himself in fighting trim. This was a bet I was almost certain to lose.

It’s Hard To Pinpoint Any One Particular Reason I Stopped Drinking So Much.

Faced with this challenge today, I would have no problem begging off, using my lameness and general decrepitude as an excuse. But at twenty-five or so, I was still very much in the throes of a delayed adolescence, and my carefully crafted self-image would not allow me to ignore this challenge from a younger, stronger, faster predator. Moreover, I would have to go beyond merely showing up for John’s challenge; I could not simply shuffle complacently to my own ass-whipping. Not only did I have no choice but to accept, I had to win.

To assist me in this endeavor, I had a card up my sleeve worth a dozen battle-hardened livers, an advantage so pronounced as to change the course of battle even before the sound of the first shot: my exemplary cunning. John believed that the drinking contest would begin–and thus be won or lost–when we first took up our glasses. He was wrong.

“All right,” I said, showing him my game face, “Let’s do it. But I don’t want to pussy around, dude–if we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right: we’ll drink Jäger.”

Jäger Has Made My Life Immeasurably Richer Simply By Being In It, And I Don’t Care Who Knows It.

For those unfamiliar with the cough syrup-meets-black licorice charm of Jägermeister, the iconic kraut tipple is made from a variety of spices and despite being only 70 proof, has fostered a reputation for fucking your shit up. People spoke of Jäger in the breathless, quasi-mystic tones normally reserved for absinthe and peyote. Some people said it contained traces of deer blood, others opium. For whatever reason, I’ve never had a problem with Jäger, and consider its fearsome reputation to be entirely overblown.

But that reputation had precisely the effect I’d intended. Having proposed the wager, John could hardly refuse. He agreed, but with markedly less enthusiasm than when he first suggested it. Jägermeister it would be.

I Heard About A Dude Who Named His Child–HIS CHILD!–“Jäger Meier.” Some People Should Not Be Allowed To Have Children.

The party was at a co-worker’s house, and being a work-related party, both John and I agreed not to start our competition until later in the evening when the more reputable guests had left. John and I went to the keg together and filled our cups. Although John and I both returned to the keg several times that evening, I was nursing my beer and “filling” it when it was already nearly full. John, however, appeared to be drinking with abandon.

When it was time to throw down in our liquor-based contest of manhood—well, I guess you already know that I kicked his ass. It wasn’t even close. When I left the party, John was on hands & knees in the front lawn, heaving a black and hideous mess into the grass. I gave his shoulder a squeeze and said some comforting but ultimately condescending words as I passed. I kept my dignity all the while, and waited at least until I was in the car before I began convulsively to spew, coating the door and good portion of the seat. Happily for everyone, it was my girlfriend’s car.

***

Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.

‘Tits McGee’: Growing Up With Big Boobs ~ It distracts a little from the very serious nature of your subject when you tag your headline with one of the all-time funniest nicknames ever created for an amply-endowed lass. However, it’s perfectly understandable that you don’t appreciate the appellation’s amusing nature, as we imagine that even after all these years you still fail to see the humor in it.

Hey, Look At The Bright Side, Chesty–Not Many People Can Claim They’re A Human Life-Jacket.

My Dad Will Never Stop Smoking Pot~ Son, Daddy uses this forum to write silly jokes about the headlines to news stories he can’t be bothered to read. I appreciate you voicing your concerns, but we’ll talk about this a little later in private–okay, Sport?

Lance Armstrong Tells Oprah Winfrey Why He Doped ~ “Well, you see, Oprah, I made a lot more money when I won races, and the boys in R&D crunched some numbers and they discovered that I seemed to win more races when I was a chemically enhanced super-human. So, really–it was kind of a no-brainer.”

How much Neanderthal DNA do you have? Lots ~ “Jesus, Frank–there has GOT to be a better way to say that. Look, I had a couple of really unfortunate encounters during my time-travel adventures in the Pleistocene Era, and all I want to do right now is take a shower and try to forget about it.”

“Listen, Garrkkokk–I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Be Able To Trust You Again. It’s Times Like This When I Remember Why Our Two Species Diverged.”

Double-transplant patient loses legs ~ They’re not your fucking car keys, dude! Somebody went to a lot of trouble to get you those legs, and the least you can do is keep an eye on them.

“‘Short-man syndrome’ is real~ Given the tragic and debilitating nature of their shared genetic curse, we think it’s a remarkable display of perseverance most mornings for these nasty little creatures even to come skulking from their filthy dens into the bright light of day.

The Fact That You Rarely See Lawn Jockeys These Days Should Give You An Idea Of How Profoundly Offensive Shortness Has Become In Modern Society.

“Sorry, Chap–I Missed That Last Bit–Something About Drinking, I Think. And Did I Tell You About My License To Kill? Yeah, They Just Let Me Shoot Whomever I Please. It’s Great–I Don’t Even Have To Give A Reason. But Please–Do Go On.”

Why We Cry on Planes~ Because we–and here I mean me–are fucking terrified. Also uncomfortable. Seriously, can they design passenger class to accommodate the 5’8″-and-over crowd? And loosen up on the pot thing, of course.

What Julia Gillard did for Australia and sexism ~ Although Ms. Gillard has suffered a setback, her greatest legacy may have been to pound the final nail in the coffin of sexism. As she walks off into the sunset, political observers everywhere will no doubt take a moment or two to appreciate her cute little backside.

TV: What Happened To Kimmy Gibbler ~ I went to college with Andrea Barber, who played Kimmy Gibbler on the odious Full House (which I’m proud to say I’ve never seen). You’ll be happy to know that Andrea was a lovely person who went on to have a real life.

Kerry says United States cannot be ‘spectators to slaughter’ in Syria ~ So we’re just gonna change the channel to something a little less ugly, like we did in Rwanda. And Argentina. And Grenada. And Cambodia. And Panama. And Sri Lanka. And Vietnam.And China. And Serbia. And Brazil. And Iraq. And Ivory Coast. And Libya. And North Korea. And Mexico. And Chechnya. And Afghanistan. And Pakistan. And Rangoon. And Zimbabwe. And Egypt. And Sudan. And Central Africa¹ And Saudi Arabia. And…

Just Go Ahead And Die So We Can Get Around To Promising “NEVER AGAIN.”

Man shot after performing forced fellatio~ At the risk of sounding arrogant, I just can’t see this happening to me. If a dude ever put a gun to my head and demanded I go down on him, I’d give him the best damn BJ he ever had in his life. Afterwards, he wouldn’t even be able walk, let alone shoot me.

3-Inch Fossil Holds Clue to Human Split From Apes ~ There’s no mystery behind the split. The reason our two species diverged–and I’m not trying to be disrespectful, I’m just laying it all out on the table–was because the apes were holding us back. I mean, look–it’s been like a great-gazillion years since then, and they’re STILL living in trees and pass the time by pelting one another with well-aimed clods of their own poo. Meanwhile, humans have not only journeyed to the moon and divined the secrets of the atom, we’ve also hunted some of those ape motherfuckers almost to the point of extinction. Homo Sapiens, BEYOTCH!

Woman convicted of torture, mayhem for severing husband’s penis ~We are opponents of capital punishment, believing it to be unnecessary and cruel, and that moreover it has proven ineffective in deterring crime. However, in this instance we feel wholly justified in gleefully wishing death upon this malicious tallywhacker snatcher.

An All-Asian Version of ‘Hello, Dolly!’ ~ Oh come on! You pick a play whose title JUST HAPPENS TO BE the two English words which sound funniest when spoken with an Asian accent, and you expect us to believe that’s just a coincidence?